The Danville New

Robert John Andrews

Thursday, December 4, 2025

“Advent Candles”

Word Count:  750

 

Those invited to do so would come down the central aisle to light the Advent Wreath.  Five candles.  Circular.  Surrounded by greenery.  There are many variations to Advent candles and their meaning, although tradition suggest that the first candle, purple for preparation by penitence, is the Prophecy candle, the candle of hope;   the second candle, also purple, is the Bethlehem candle, the candle of peace;   the third candle can be pink for Joy, the Shepherd’s candle;   the fourth candle, sometimes pink, traditionally purple, is the candle of love, the Angel’s candle.  The central candle, white, is the Christ candle, lit on Christmas Eve.   

 

Graying me begins to sound like Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof,” for traditions mean more than mere sentiment: “Traditions, traditions. Without our traditions, our lives would be as shaky as—as—as a fiddler—on the roof!”  Traditions are a steady handing down,, a giving over, a transfer.  I liken tradition to a ship’s rudder.  Rudders guide the forward motion of ships.  What never helps is when traditions become anchors, fixing us in the same spot. 

 

At Grove Church we added a sweet touch to our Advent tradition.  Those who light the candles would also come down the aisle carrying one of the crèche figurines.  Come Christmas Eve the final figure would be added:  baby Jesus.  Some church members waxed anxious about this new tradition, as the crèche was fragile china.  They worried about breakage from little hands.  But others asked:  “What good is a manger scene that is too fragile, too cherished, to prevent kids from playing with sheep, camel, and baby Jesus?”

 

Do our congregations realize these manger scenes displayed by our churches convey a dangerous and revolutionary message?  Very dangerous.  Who kneels and submits to the will of God, which for us Christians is revealed by this Jesus?  Who?  Joseph and Mary, symbolic of parents.  Who kneels?  Those Magi, symbolic of all those who are important, powerful, and rich.   Who kneels?  Shepherds, symbolic of the lowest of the low, the abused and forgotten ones.  Even the Angel submits. 

 

Around the manger kneel various races and classes.  Here’s the society, God tells us, that will save us, where the abdication of bigotry, authority, and domination over others to accomplish our will yields to the Divine will.  Suicidally, we brag:  “My will be done.”  Saner is: “Thy will be done.”  Even my Jesus modeled this.  We believe that living according to the Sermon on the Mount alone is practical.  “And that unless we can achieve the hard-headed realism of the Christian ethic and put it into practice,” preached Harry Emerson Fosdick.” we are personally and socially sunk!”

 

By the way, Herod’s solders slaughtering babies in Bethlehem were just following orders, obeying the king’s law.

 

Why this tradition of Advent candles, or, as is many congregation’s custom, light candles to conclude the Christmas Eve service whilst singing “Silent Night?”  Well, “This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine.”  Still, still, there is more, for the source of all light, the sun, is constant, we surely aren’t. 

 

I flicker too much.  I, mere candle, build up too much wax in my life and drown the flame.  Nor do I particularly like the fact that the price of being a candle is that I must melt;  I must give up myself for this light to shine.

 

Still, still, we are bold.  We are filled with hope.  We gather to witness how darkness cannot snuff out the light.  Darkness lacks such capacity.  The stirring winds of hatred, negativity, callousness, however, can gust and snuff out the flame.  Our hurts, antagonisms, our teeth-clenched defensiveness can blow it out.  So too our fears from risking to love, risking care, risking compassion, the failure to forgive, the failure to be kind. So too our failure to walk in other’s shoes and feel their hurt and loneliness, refusing to step out of ourselves and see the world from their eyes.  Or then the tears of sadness and loss rain upon the frail flickering flame. Leaving us all in the dark.  Only the absence of light keeps us in darkness. 

 

You cannot fight darkness with darkness.  No more than anger can counter anger or hate conquer hate.  I require the rekindling that results when waxy me comes toward the source and leans toward the flame.  Passing onto and into this world hope, peace, joy, love.  I must come to it.  I must bend.  Funny thing about candles – they cannot ignite themselves.